


Thominewt Paradise

by LadyJanriel



Series: Janriel's Maze Runner Shorts [1]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Animals, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Compliant, Cat Newt, Dog Minho, Established Relationship, Ferret Gally, Hamster Chuck, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Multi, Nosebleeds, Red String of Fate, Various alternate universes, archangel minho, archdemon thomas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-06-04 05:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6643873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJanriel/pseuds/LadyJanriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter 5 - Red Strings AU</p>
<p>" They were pretty. Pretty in the way all shiny things were to children, but Thomas sensed the threads were more than just strange threads woven around pinkies."</p>
<p> -x-X-x-</p>
<p>All my thominewt short stories in one location! All these entries are prompts requested by anons/followers on tumblr.</p>
<p>[Updates when inspiration strikes, but mostly complete]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dodgeball

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! Are you guys sick of seeing my face yet?!
> 
> I thought it would make for easier reading if I had my short stories in one area. All these entries will vary in length and quality as they are requested by anons/followers on my [tumblr](janrielworks.tumblr.com). 
> 
> "Dodge-ball" was requested by an Anon

Thomas wasn’t necessarily an athletic boy in the same way Minho was. Minho had an athletic prowess Thomas could only dream of achieving. The junior was practically a guru at every sport he got his hands on. What Thomas did have, though, was agility. It was why he was on the track team in the summer and lacrosse in the winter. People couldn’t catch up to him no matter how hard they tried – even Minho had trouble breaking his time in track.

It also made Thomas an absolute beast in dodge ball, much to Gally’s chagrin.

Today, Jorge broke them up into two teams. Minho draped his arms over his favorite duo, drawing them close to his muscular frame and grinning like a man who won the lottery.

“Ready to dodge, shanks? Gally looks like he’s out for blood today.” The athlete laughed.

“So does Harriet.” Newt added.

Thomas glance the girl’s way. She stood in front of the second team, dark eyes glaring daggers at Alby. Thomas grinned.

“Guess Alby did something to set her off.”

“When does he not?” Newt rolled his eyes.

“Get in position!” Jorge called, blowing his whistle for attention. He lined up four balls in the center of the gym and gave Gally and Ben a dark look for moving closer.

Minho pulled away from the duo and hurried to the front, anxious to get the game started. Thomas lingered back with Newt. He gave the blond a reassuring grin.

Newt rolled his eyes again, but smirked in return.

“I’m gonna get you Tom!” Teresa challenged from across the gym. Her blue eyes were a lit with amusement that made the boy laugh.

“Not if I get you first!”

“You guys are bloody sickening.” Newt quipped.

“Jealous?”

“Always.”

Jorge’s whistle sounded and before Thomas knew it, his classmates were off to grab the balls.

Alby and Minho snatched the first two while Harriet and Gally grabbed the last. His teammate scattered, orange balls flying.

Thomas was a pro at this. He didn’t have much of a throw and his aim was questionable to say the least, but he had enough speed to steal all the balls and dodge them with such ease it was infuriating. He kept an eye on Newt, who wasn’t nearly as fast at dodging but was dexterous enough to catch balls right out of the air. Newt’s aim was impeccable. He snatched a ball heading straight for Frypan and smacked Ben right on the hip.

“You’re out Ben!” Coach Jorge called. “Into the out zone mijo!”

“Yeah Newt!” Minho grinned. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

“Thanks Newt.” Frypan laughed, breathless from all the running.

Newt returned the smile. “No problem Fry.”

Teresa tried with all her might to strike Thomas down. She’d been close, but her aim wasn’t nearly as good as she would have liked. Thomas knocked her out of the game with a lucky hit to her back.

“Avenge me Aris!” She teased as she walked off the floor. “Fight for my honor.”

“He won’t get the chance!” Sonya threw a ball his way and jumped in victory as it bounced right out of his grip.

“Dammit!”

“You’re out Mr. Jones! Guess someone else will have to fight for Miss Agnes’ honor.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled.

He joined Teresa in the out zone, a playful pout on his face.

Sonya’s victory was short lived. She took a hazardous ball to the shoulder, courtesy of an irate looking Gally.

In a miraculous display only a slow-mo camera could have captured, Frypan knocked out Winston in the same time Winston knocked out Zart. Minho was in the process of cheering when Brenda knocked Frypan out of the game, the dark skinned boy having been distracted by his own extraordinary throw.

Newt got her right on the thigh.

“Four against two. What are you gonna do Gally?” Minho taunted.

The blond boy scowled.

“Don’t bait the losers Minho.” Alby chided.

If looks could kill, Alby would have been dead three times over, Harriet’s expression was murderous.

Five seconds into the new round, Alby was out by Harriet’s well timed aim.

“Shouldn’t have baited ‘em, Alby.” New snickered.

Alby rolled his eyes. “Knock ‘em out boys. Lunch is on me if ya manage.”

He was barely off the floor when the next ball went flying. Newt snatched the thing aimed at Thomas head right out of the air and glared back at Gally, who rolled his eyes.

“Below the belt, mijo!” Jorge called. “Don’t be a pendejo, though I don’t think you can help that.”

“That was below the belt,” the boy snorted.

“Are you kidding me? That was heading straight for his head, shank!” Minho hissed.

Gally shrugged. “Whoops.”

Newt and Minho threw their balls Gally’s way, but the junior dodged the assault with such grace, Thomas was annoyed he felt so impressed. He didn’t think Gally had the ability to move that fast.

Harriet and Gally held their own. Harriet was too slippery and Gally surprisingly graceful in his movements. Their balls came terrifyingly close to hitting them and Thomas could barely keep up with the balls aimed at his head.

“Knock it off Gally!”

“I’m not doin’ anything.”

“You’re purposely—oh shit–!”

Newt caught another ball aimed at Thomas’ face.

“Uh, thanks,” He gaped.

Newt furrowed his brows. “Gally’s a slinthead.”

“Ya think?”

“HEADS UP!”

Another ball came flying. Newt shoved the dodge ball into Thomas’ arms and grabbed the second one before it could hit its intended target.

Minho growled. He snatched Thomas’ ball and sent it soaring to Gally, who dodged with infuriating ease.

“Stop standing around and knock that shuck face out of the game!”

“I’m trying!” Newt hissed.

“Try harder!”

Thomas opened his mouth to respond but was suddenly blinded with a face full of orange. Pain exploded all around his nose and cranium. White stars popped in the blackness behind his eyelids. He crashed to the floor like a dead weight and groaned from the agonizing pain.

“Thomas!” “Tommy!”

“GALLY!”

Jorge’s whistle sounded echoing through the gym. Someone was at Thomas’ side, hands fluttering around his face. Something wet and warm trickled down his lips.

It tasted like cooper.

“God dammit Gally! What the hell is wrong with you!?”

“Minho stop—“

“He should have dodged.”

“You sonava—“

Thomas cracked open an eye.

Newt held Minho back, the boy struggling against the blond’s fierce grip. Alby stood between them and Gally, the latter’s expression obnoxiously gleeful. Teresa was by his side, blue eyes filled with concern.

Sonya handed him a tissue and urged him to hold it to his nose. Blood stained the milky white cloth.

“Okay, okay, break it up.” Jorge stood with Alby in between the boys, his hands held out to keep them further apart. “Take Thomas to the nurse’s office. We’re done here.”

“C’mon Min.” Newt tugged on the boy’s muscular arm.

“You little—“

“Minho!”

The athlete gritted his teeth. Begrudgingly, he followed Newt and Thomas out of the gym. He shot Gally death glares until they disappeared around the corner.

“Gally’s a shuck-faced shank. Imma punch that bastard right in his ugly nose!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Thomas sighed. “It’s just a nosebleed. Nothing’s broken.”

“Not a big deal!? Thomas—“

Newt shushed the athlete with a dark look, tired of the boy’s incessant complaining.

“If Tommy says it’s not a big deal then it’s not.”

He continued to rub the brunet’s back despite his nosebleed already dwindling. “We’re glad you’re not seriously hurt.” He continued. He planted a gentle kiss against the boy’s forehead.

Thomas smiled. “Thanks Newt.”

Minho collapsed onto the seat next to Thomas, still angry and glaring holes at the floor.

Thomas leaned into him, gently resting his head against his shoulder.

“You were so hot back there.” He mumbled. “An angry Minho is a sexy Minho.”

Newt chuckled. “Yeah, that’s true, even though an angry Minho is a troublesome Minho.”

Minho huffed but draped an arm around Thomas, his hand brushing along Newt’s cheek in the process. Newt smiled affectionately.

“I’m still punching him.”

“We look forward to it.”


	2. Pet AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cat!Newt has Thomas all to himself until his naive human brings home a disgusting mut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on an OTP Prompt
> 
> Originally A/N: I wrote this in the hopes of easing myself into writing again after a month of stagnation. It was tough and I don’t know what the hell this is but I went with it. It sounds like the intro to a crack story tbh lmao. I didn’t follow the prompt exactly because I really wanted to imagine Gally as a ferret.

Newt liked to sleep and lord knows he slept a lot, but if there was one thing Newt enjoyed more than sleeping, it was waking up before the dawn in a bratty demand for food. And today was no different. He poked and prodded at Tommy’s nose when the silly human remained listless in bed, murmuring excuses to sleep in under the covers despite the sun’s upcoming arrival.

Newt honestly didn’t understand his human’s obsession for sleeping in late. Didn’t he realize that food was best served just as the sun peeked beyond the mountains? Or that the birds often went hunting for worms and bugs around this time? Didn’t he realize that poor Chuck and Gally were starving and waiting for the silly boy to wake up, groom himself and eat before them just made their mood sour?

Newt loved his human very much, but certain rituals the boy did made no sense to him. And today, he was not having it.

He crawled on top of the negligent human and purred into his ear, a part of him hoping the low rumbling in his throat would be enough to stir the child into wakefulness. But Thomas didn’t stir.

Newt’s ears pressed against his head, his furry tail twitching in agitation. He nudged the boy’s cheek with a cold, wet nose. Being this early in the day and this cold, Newt imagined the touch felt like ice on the boy’s skin. Surely this would wake the human?

The yellow feline watched, golden eyes wide in curiosity. A muscle in the human’s face twitched. The corners of his lips quirked into an upward arch, as though he were smiling but just as quickly as it appeared, it fell into a neutral line. Thomas’ soft breath parted from his lips, deep and soothing.

He was still asleep, the damn bastard.

Okay Tommy, Newt sighed to himself. He lifted up a paw, sharp nails already retracting from their sheaths. You leave me no choice.

Quick as lightning, he swiped his claws against the boy’s cheek. He felt the tips of his nails graze the human’s skin and became satisfied when a paper thin red trail appeared on the boy’s shallow cheek. Thomas was up in seconds, rubbing a hand against his assaulted skin and grumbling about mangy furballs and their attitudes.

Newt pretended he didn’t just assault his owner and gave Thomas wide, adoring eyes; his pupils rounded and black. He made sure his golden fur was puffed to maximum capacity for a fluffy cuteness bonus and started to pur.

“Feed me!” he meowed.

Thomas heaved a heavy sigh. “Okay, okay. I’m up.” With a quick and gentle rub to the feline’s head, Thomas climbed out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. Newt faithfully followed at his heels.

* * *

For as long as Newt could remember, their early morning routine had always gone as such. He would wake up before the dawn, disturb Thomas and demand for food. Before, it’d been just the two of them and waking Thomas had been much easier than now. He’d been happy when it was just the two of them, and he wished it had stayed that way.

When Thomas brought Chuck home, Newt had been ecstatic. The rodent was much smaller then, yet the creature was still plump and delightful; Newt licked his lips in anticipation of such a gracious and wonderful dinner – until Thomas told him Chuck was a friend, not food. That had been one of the most disappointing things in Newt’s life, even more disappointing than the time they ran out of catnip for a week.

Nevertheless, Newt adjusted. He played with the rodent whenever Thomas stuffed the creature into his clear ball and allowed him to roam freely across the floor. It was both amusing and disgusting watching the rodent run around in pellets of its own poop before Thomas learned to clean the travel ball. Newt was grateful for it, talking to the kid while he ran around in his fecal matter was unsanitary.

Not that Newt really talked to Chuck. Oh no. Newt wasn’t really much for talking on a regular day, but never had he seen a rodent go on and on and on about everything. He talked to Thomas when the human came by, he spoke to Newt, he spoke to the plants – he spoke to his own damn poop! Chuck talked even when there was no one around. He was lucky Thomas enjoyed the rodent’s presence, because Newt was damn sure he would have eaten the kid by now. Not that he didn’t like Chuck, the hamster had its charm once Newt got used to him, he just wished the kid would take a breath and stop talking for once.

He liked Chuck better than Gally at least.

Gally was a ferret. His fur was black save for a few small patches of white fur on his face and chest. He had a nice, large cage that allowed him to roam in comfort and a hammock to sleep on when the day was through. He didn’t nearly talk as much as Chuck nor was he as friendly. He was somewhat bitter, often biting the door of his cage for freedom and purposely pooping inside Thomas’ shoes out of spite. Newt despised the furball for his blatant disrespect of his precious Tommy and had no qualms putting the mangy weasel in his place whenever he could.

Newt didn’t understand why Gally was here in the first place. He didn’t like Thomas and took every liberty he had to bite the poor human when he could. And yet, Thomas treated the ferret with gentle hands. He fed him, washed him regularly and cleaned out his cage on a daily basis. It sickened the feline to watch his Tommy take care of this foul weasel with such tender loving care. All that love and tenderness could be spent on him, not Gally.

It was a constant struggle, but for Tommy, Newt tolerated.

After his breakfast, he jumped onto the kitchen counter as Thomas poured food into Chuck’s bowl. Gally poked his head from behind the hammock, dark eyes sleepy and inquisitive. Chuck ran circles in his hay, chirping up excitedly about the sun, how bright the room was, how warm it would be today and how delicious his food was going to taste once it was in his mouth.

Newt rolled his eyes.

“Do you ever shut up?” Gally grumbled from his cage. He languidly stretched across the length of his hammock, his tail swishing lazily from the other end.

Chuck stopped in his tracks, his nose twitching.

“No! Not really.” He chirped happily.

Gally groaned when the hamster continued. Newt snickered.

“Good morning Gally. I see you’re awake too.” Thomas greeted with a pleasant smile.

The ferret curled into his hammock. He buried his nose under his tail and shut his eyes for another nap. Newt’s fur bristled in annoyance, but Thomas took the ferret’s dismissal in stride. He slipped Chuck’s bowl into the hamster’s cage, pressed his pointer finger along the hamster’s spine in a gentle greeting then returned to the kitchen to attend his own needs.

Newt continued to watch him like a silent guardian.

* * *

“Today is a special day, Newt.”

Newt paused his grooming, his slender foot high in the air as he turned golden eyes toward his human. Thomas sat at the dining room table, his smart phone in hand. He had a wide smile on his face, his chocolate brown eyes alit with such childlike joy. It made Newt’s little heart jump erratically. He could feel the excitement practically vibrating from his human. It almost made Newt want to run around to expel that effervescent energy.

He inclined his head inquisitively, curious and confused. Thomas chuckled.

“I won’t spoil the surprise, but I think you three are going to be really excited!”

Newt’s ears perked upward. “The three of us?” He glanced Gally’s way, catching sight of the ferret watching them discreetly from his hammock. “What the bloody hell is he going on about?”

“You’re asking me?” Gally snorted.

Chuck seemed to vibrate in Thomas’ joy. “Oh my gosh, what if it’s food?! What if he’s going to buy us more carrots?!”

Newt leapt from the couch onto the dining table just as Thomas washed away his dishes. The boy’s smart phone lay abandoned on the table, its screen still bright from previous use, but before Newt could get a good picture of what he was seeing, the screen blinked into darkness. The only image he saw was the expression on his furry, yellow face.

Gally sucked his teeth. “Nice goin’ Newt.”

The feline hissed Gally’s way.

* * *

Thomas left them to their own devices for four hours after that. He left in a hurry, his keys and wallet in hand. He gave Newt a quick kiss to his forehead before bolting out the door. Newt would have spent the time looking for clues, but honestly, he wasn’t that interested. So instead, he climbed onto Thomas’ bed, curled into himself and fell into the deepest sleep he ever could. He dreamt of Tommy, tuna, Chuck as a sandwich and Gally wrapped up like a burrito.

Life was good.

* * *

He perked into wakefulness at the sound of keys jiggling the lock. With sluggish movements, Newt stretched his body as far as he could then jumped off the bed to greet his wonderful Tommy. He could still sense the boy’s excitement as he approached and it pleased him greatly. It wasn’t every day Thomas seemed so joyous about whatever it was that made him happy. Newt jumped onto the shelf beside the door, ready to give Thomas his customary greeting when his fur stood on end.

Thomas stepped into the apartment holding a bright blue leash. Tethered onto the end was a medium sized dog with ears pointed high and tongue lolling to the side. His fur was black, blacker than Gally’s and his eyes a dowey, chocolate brown. Thomas led the animal inside and with a bright smile turned to Newt.

“Surprise! Newt meet Minho. Minho meet Newt! I rescued him from the shelter today.”

Minho glanced upward toward Newt’s perch and gave the cat a goofy looking, tongue lolling smile.

“’sup?”

Newt hissed.

“Aw, Newt don’t be like that.” Thomas frowned. “He’s friendly. He’s supposed to be good with cats and ferrets.”

Minho sat by Thomas’ legs, his whole body shaking in pants.

Newt hissed again.

“Possessive aren’t we?” Minho teased. “I take it you’re the king of this place, eh?”

“Damn right. And you don’t belong here.”

Minho tilted his head. To Thomas, the dog looked curious, but to Newt, he could sense the male’s smugness from his perch.

“We’ll see.”

Newt made to hiss again when Thomas plucked him from the shelf and planted a sweet kiss to his head.

“Aw come on, you’ll get used to him. I know it’s a big change, but I promise you two will become great friends.”

Newt highly doubted it. He didn’t buy into the belief that cats and dogs didn’t get along. After all, Teresa’s dog, Alby was one of Newt’s closest and greatest companions. It was just… Minho was smug and encroaching on his territory. That was a big no-no for Newt.

Thomas carried him all the way back to the bedroom, leaving Minho behind to sniff his surroundings. The German Shepherd trotted around the living room. He poked his nose into Chuck’s cage, much to the hamster’s amusement and greeted the anti-social Gally, who had watched the whole spectacle from the highest level of his cage.

Minho could sniff Newt’s presence on everything in the entire house. He didn’t really mind the cat, he had made great friends back in the shelter, some of which were cats before they were adopted. There was just something about Newt that made Minho want to mess with the furball. Maybe it was the fact he noticed the possessive, almost jealous look in the feline’s eyes when his new owner introduced them. Or maybe it was just how high strung Newt appeared to him. He supposed he should have expected it, understood it even.

He’d been the Alpha of a home once; the strong protector of his precious human. He wouldn’t take that away from Newt, not really, but that didn’t mean he didn’t plan on messing with him.

Minho snickered to himself. Oh yes, not only was the human someone he could mess with, but so was the cat. How lucky he was to find such an excellent home.


	3. Chronic Nosebleeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys move into a new place and Thomas gets FTO by Newt's gross bodily fluids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt was requested by Anon

Thomas and Minho hauled the last heavy box into their new apartment with a mighty heave. His muscles burned with the strenuous work of having pushed boxes all day and when he straightened, his back screamed in agony, his bones popping and cracking. Thomas groaned in complaint. He rubbed his lower back as though that would assuage the torment plaguing his bones.

Minho wasn’t any better. The older boy collapsed onto the large box full of heavy books, his whole weight barely doing anything to dent the box that nearly killed them in the elevator.

“Oh thank god that’s the last one.” He exhaled, perspiration dotting his brow. “I’m not moving from this spot. No one can make me. I’m done. I’m dead. Goodbye.”

Newt, who sat on the floor sorting through piles of books he had recently unpacked, spared an unamused glance their way.

“Minho, you’re blocking the doorway. How do you expect us to get food if you’re dead by the front door?”

“You’ll just have to starve. If you get really hungry, you can feast on my flesh.”

“You’re too tough.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

Thomas plopped heavily onto their messy couch with a breathless laugh, which quickly turned into a pained moan the moment his muscles began to relax against the soft cushions. He was so sweaty and sore, his skin flushed from the exercise. He felt dirty, like a layer of dust and grime covered his skin thanks to hauling furniture and boxes. He really hated moving.

“Wake me up when we’re done unpacking.” He murmured, his eyelids fluttering shut.

“Don’t you bloody dare Tommy!”

“Sounds good.” Minho slurred, dropping his head like deadweight. “G’nite.”

Newt rolled up the nearest newspaper he could find and tossed it Thomas’ way. The balled up paper smacked the boy right on the nose then bounced off to the side. It landed innocently on the carpeted ground.

Thomas whined.

“Newt, c’mon! We’re exhausted.” He tried to shift to face the blond but grimaced at his body’s protest. He remained flat on the couch, content with feeling his whole body pulse to the beat of his heart. He turned his head, his mouth open for another protest when something in Newt’s expression stopped him cold.

Despite the pain, Thomas bolted upwards, eyes wide.

“Holy shit Newt!”

Newt frowned, startled. Before he could say a word, Thomas was on his aching feet. He scrambled around the messy living room in a frantic search for something. From the corner of his eyes, Newt caught Minho slip off the box in an attempt to see what was wrong, but the athlete seemed far too exhausted to muster enough strength to climb to his feet. He laid on the ground, unmoving.

Thomas was in front of Newt in a flash, a tissue box in hand. He grabbed the pale blond’s strong chin with gentle, sweaty hands and tilted the older male’s head upward so carefully Newt nearly blushed at how intimate it felt. He dabbed the soft tissue just beneath the blond’s nose, brown eyes wide and oddly anxious. Blood stained the pearly white sheet.

Newt suddenly chuckled.

“Why are you laughing?” Thomas frowned. “You’re bleeding, Newt!”

“I can see that Tommy.”

“Thomas, you’re so cute.” They heard Minho say.

Thomas spared him a glance, surprised to see him collapsed on the ground. When had that happened?

“Minho, are you okay?”

“Well I’m not dead.” He quipped.

“Clearly.” Newt added dryly.

Thomas confusion doubled tenfold. “Why are you two acting so nonchalant about this?”

Newt gently took the bloody tissue from Thomas’ grasp and cleared away the remainder of his blood.

“Because it’s nothing serious. I get nosebleeds frequently.”

“You do?”

“He does.”

“How come I’ve never seen it until now?”

Newt shrugged. “Sometimes they’re frequent, sometimes it takes a while, but believe me when I tell you I’m okay. I promise.”

“Don’t worry Thomas, I was just as worried as you when I first found out.” Minho chuckled, still spread eagle on the ground.

Newt rolled his eyes in good humor. “Worried? You thought I was dying.”

“You bled into your damn soup in the middle of our date, Newt. Of course I’m gonna think you’re dying! You gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry Minho.” The blond laughed. He turned to Thomas, blue eyes bright with affection and humor. He grabbed the brunet’s face gently and planted a sweet kiss against his sweaty forehead. “I’m sorry Tommy.” He murmured. “For worrying you.”

Thomas sighed, relieved. “Don’t worry about it.”

“If you two shanks are done being lovey-dovey over there, do you mind coming over here and giving me some love and attention? I’m pretty damn sure I broke my back moving these damn books.” Minho griped. He tried to roll onto his stomach but fell back onto his back with a pained grunt. “That’s it. I’m crippled. Say goodbye to my career.”

“Yeah, yeah you big baby.” Thomas laughed. “We’re coming.”

“Forget it Tommy, let him stay there. He’s less of a handful that way.”

“I don’t appreciate this blatant example of Minho neglect! I’m calling the police.”

“Shut up ya shank. You know you won’t do that. You love us too much.”

Minho grumbled. He hated when Newt was right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a prompt on tumblr I had sitting around for a few months now. Rusty writing because writer’s block is a bitch. Also unedited because it's past midnight and I spent my day watching Game of Thrones.

Thomas was irritated. He wasn’t much for simmering angrily when things didn’t go his way. He always took a step back, examined the situation from all different angles and tried to logically come up with a plan…

Okay, so maybe that was mostly bull. Teresa always called him out on being reckless and impulsive. So what if he jumped head first into missions without proper briefings or escape routes? So what if every time he went out into the world for a target, he ended up dodging fire and explosions? At least he came back with the souls they needed! And, okay, sometimes he did come back worse for wear, but at least survived and he came back stronger because of it.

He didn’t always have a plan, but he was a master of pulling shit out of his ass and they usually worked.

Thomas grit his teeth, his tail twitching erratically behind him.

His assignment was supposed to be simple – a quick get in, get out – how was it that he was suddenly face to face with a damn guardian angel?

His opponent stared him down, black eyes bright with a fierce desire of protection. His grip on the diamond broadsword tightened, stretching tanned skin taught over his ashen knuckles. His wings were out of sight, as were the markings Thomas knew trailed along his body like shimmering tattoos.

From an outsider’s perspective, they must have looked ridiculous. Two teenage boys locked into a staring battle; one tall and brawny, brandishing a sharp, heavy sword that made his biceps bulge with effort, while the other was thin and lanky, his body tense from the stand still, a weird, thin black appendage twitching behind him.

Thomas wished he could shed his disguise. His demonic form was much more intimidating than this human appearance, but it was far too risky to break the spell cast over him. Not when his target was merely a floor away, completely unaware of the standoff between them.

He eyed his opponent sharply, wary of the angel’s weapon and the small space of the bedroom they stood in.

Had Minho been any other kind of angel, the situation would have been easily diverted. But he wasn’t just a guardian angel, he was an archangel, a warrior of the highest ranking. Minho was, regrettably, on par with Thomas in terms of strength and power. If Thomas tried to fight, Minho could easily match him for blows. Archangels were annoying like that.

“Stand down Thomas, we both know you’re not going to win today.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes. “Likewise, Min. Newt’s too close for you to blow your cover. You might just kill him.”

Minho’s lips peeled back into a nasty smile. He raised the diamond blade toward the archdemon’s throat, his grip steady. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Thomas tensed. Damn, he really disliked how on edge Minho made him.

“I have a job to do, Minho. I can’t walk away until it’s done. You know that.”

“You’ve got no other choice, slinthead. He’s under my protection. This is one human you’re not getting your hands on.”

Thomas sucked his teeth.

Archangels were tough on a regular day. An archangel tasked in protecting a human? That was worse.

Brown eyes roamed toward the half-open door. He could hear the teenager in question rummaging downstairs, muttering things to himself as he prepared a snack for them both.

Thomas sighed.

Isaac Newton Sangster, age sixteen; blond haired, blue eyed with a stocky build. Thomas knew everything there was to know about the boy they called “Newt”. He had memorized the boy’s daily scheduled; learned his habits, watched him eat, sleep and breathe. He had studied his friends, his family – he learned what made Newt tick. And as all unnatural beings of the mortal world, he assimilated himself into Newt’s life. He became the boy’s best friend, grew close with his family and comforted him during tough times.

What he didn’t foresee – and quite honestly, he should have. The signs were everywhere – was Minho’s intervention. How Minho managed to hide his angelic presence from Thomas for so long both irked and annoyed the demon.

He could already see Teresa rolling her eyes at him now. She’d been right once again.

Thomas was the first to give. He fell back onto the floor as his tail shimmered out of existence and perched his chin against his palm.

“You win.” He grumbled. “For now.”

The smug grin on the archangel’s face made Thomas want to punch him.

Minho’s diamond sword vanished as he rejoined Thomas in their forgotten game of monopoly.

“Good little demon!” He cooed. “See, I knew you would see reason. Once we’re done celebrating Newt’s birthday, I’m going to kick your ass.”

Thomas barked out a laugh, his blood boiling. “Right, like you can land a hit on me.”

The door to Newt’s bedroom swung open before Minho could reply. The blond in question stepped into the fray, oblivious to the heated tension in the room. He laid down a platter full of snacks on top of their discarded monopoly and tossed them both cold bottles of water.

“Sorry guys, didn’t have any clean cups.” He grabbed a bowl full of chips and dipped one into the salsa. “Were you two bickering again? You both look pissed.”

“Nah, nothing. Don’t worry about it Newt.” Minho grinned, his expression far more playful than the horrible sneers he’d been giving Thomas. “Thomas was just being Thomas.”

“And Minho an asshole, but that’s nothing new.”

Newt rolled his eyes, unimpressed with his two best friend’s constant bickering. “Can’t leave you two bloody shanks a lone for a second. I swear, it’s like you’ll both bloody kill each other if I’m not here to stop you.”

“Yeah, like that’ll ever happen. Thomas is too weak to hold his own in a fight.” Minho bit down on a salty ship with a loud crunch, dark almond shaped eyes watching Thomas as he did so.

Newt shook his head with a heavy sigh, resigned to his destiny as their keeper while Thomas glared daggers at the angelic warrior.

Just you wait Minho. Just you wait. He seethed.


	5. Red Strings AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He told his mother once. She said they were soulmate strings and their purpose was to connect soulmates together. Everyone in the world had a soulmate. Some people had multiple and sometimes, unluckily, one soulmate would die before the other. But she insisted everyone had one, and that it was rare to find a person who could see the strings.
> 
> She told him he had a gift. To see the strings was a blessing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came across a blog that had a lot of soulmate au prompts and decided to give a go on one because it really interested me to see how something like that would change the dynamics in The Maze Runner story.
> 
> This is mostly introspection and is not meant to be taken too seriously.

He could see the strings clear as day. Some were thin and wire like, others thick like woven yarn. They came in a variety of red shades though they always seemed to shimmer in the light no matter how dark it seemed. They were pretty. Pretty in the way all shiny things were to children, but Thomas sensed the threads were more than just strange threads woven around pinkies.

Thomas had always been able to see them.

Before the Flare, and in his fragmented memories, Thomas could barely remember eyeing the strands that connected his mother to his father. He vaguely recalled how the thread extended and shortened with his parents’ proximity, how it seemed to barely bother them despite its thick width. And he remembered, with some sense of anxiety, how their thread began to fray when his father descended into madness.

He told his mother once. She said they were soulmate strings and their purpose was to connect soulmates together. Everyone in the world had a soulmate. Some people had multiple and sometimes, unluckily, one soulmate would die before the other. But she insisted everyone had one, and that it was rare to find a person who could see the strings.

She told him he had a gift. To see the strings was a blessing.

Thomas wanted to know more, wished he could, but when the Flare spread like wild fire and WICKED had come to claim him, he dropped the subject. Had even forgotten it for a time.

That is, until Dr. Paige came along.

It was always during their meetings when Thomas found himself comparing their strings. Hers was thin and singular, while his was thicker, like wool, yet twined as though he had two strings instead of one. He wished he could talk to her about it.

Dr. Paige didn’t feel so inclined to talk about the strings as his mother had, and he wondered for the umpteenth time, if she knew about the fate of hers.

He wasn’t surprised to them anymore, broken strings were becoming quite common place in the WICKED compound. The Flare made sure of that. But still… it hurt Thomas. The frayed ends of Ava’s red string brought forth a well of pity inside him.

Her string hung limply from her pinky, tattered and torn as though it had suffered through years of abuse. It seemed dark under the lights of his small room and it lacked the sparkle most healthy threads had. Thomas’ string was a rich ruby. It glimmered like a jewel even under the facility’s fluorescent lights and compared to Ava Paige’s broken maroon string, his seemed to stand out in the barren room.

It was hard to ignore.

She must have known. He saw the way she pulled her hand from him when his eyes lingered too long on her slender fingers. He saw, if only barely, the flash of hurt in her eyes as she delicately rubbed the thread around her pink as though she could see exactly where it lay. She couldn’t, of course. Seeing strings was rare after all.

But perhaps there was more to the strings than what he could see.

 

* * *

 

Thomas never dared follow the path of his string. He never wanted to know who it was on the other end for the fear of losing them to the cruelty of the world.

But Fate, it seemed, had other plans.

The boy’s name was Minho and he fought valiantly against the nurses who tried to restrain him. He looked to Thomas and Teresa with the desperation of a child in dire need of help, and tried to warn them about their impending fate beyond the door.

But it wasn’t Minho’s warning that astounded Thomas nor was it the bandage stained with blood just above the boy’s ear. It was his string. Red as rubies and twined with two strings. It extended from his pinky finger across the distance toward Thomas and yet another string jetted off to the left, vanishing beyond the door Thomas had yet traversed to.

Three souls connected by two strands – how was that possible?

Thomas didn’t say a word. He watched as the nurses subdued the unruly child and carried him away, the boy’s twined string extending the further he went.

 

* * *

 

Newt’s string was unlike any string he had ever seen. At a glance, there was nothing out of the ordinary. It was still the same shade of red as Thomas’ and woven twice by two strings – one shorter than the other thanks to Thomas’ proximity – but it was the state of it that intrigued him. Worried him even, if only a little bit.

Newt’s string seemed frayed. Tiny hair like threads stuck out from his twined string and although the color hadn’t dimmed nor did the shine fade, Thomas felt that Newt’s string wasn’t quite as healthy as it could be.  But he supposed, as he watched the sleeping boy breathe quietly in the gurney, that it may have something to do with his recovery from surgery. (And he hoped that was all it was.)

Thomas scanned the sleeping boy’s face for a moment before Leavitt yanked him away and threw the curtains shut behind him.

 

* * *

 

Thomas tried to forget, but Minho’s and Newt’s strings burned brightly in his mind like fire in the dark.

 

* * *

 

He cursed the day they grew close. Cursed himself even more when they were sent into the maze. He forced himself to ignore the strings when he watched them through the cameras; forced himself to ignore how every day, another string was frayed or broken, how their beautiful shimmer turned dull and lifeless.

Newt’s strings were unraveling with every artificial sunrise and Thomas couldn’t help but wonder – dreaded – when the day would come when his twined string would snap like all the rest.

 

* * *

 

Thomas didn’t bring up the red strings in the maze. He had done so once by accident.

On his first day, after he settled his nerves enough to get his bearings, he had brought up the strings to Chuck.

“What are you talking about? What strings?” Chuck questioned.

He looked at Thomas as though the older boy had gone insane, bushy brows furrowed in confusion and concern.

“Never mind,” Thomas sighed. “I’m just tired.”

He ignored them after that, despite the difficulty. There weren’t many strings in the Glade. Maybe one or two strings still intact. Some strings connected to other boys present in the Glade while most extended far out into the maze. But most lay broken and hung limply from their owners like horrific reminders, though Thomas couldn’t remember.

He wished he could remember what the strings meant or why they popped up in his fragmented dreams when he slept.

He wished he knew why Newt’s string fascinated him so much or why every time they were close, he felt the dread bubbling in the pit of his stomach.

 

* * *

 

Thomas sat beneath the shade of a large oak tree, his eyes overlooking the valley beyond. He could see the ocean from his vantage point and the small village the survivors were in the process of building. He gazed at his hand, eyeing the broken string that had unwoven from its twin. He twirled it absently around his left index finger, flashes of Newt clouding his mind.

Something wet spilled down his cheek.

He cursed himself and the string and WICKED and the Flare.

He wiped the tear away with a rough palm, his heart suddenly hammering from the rage and guilt that tormented his sleep.

His second string suddenly constricted then hung limply across his lamp just as Minho sat beside him, their thighs pressed together. Minho fell back against the bark of the oak tree, almond shaped eyes staring into the distance.

They stood that way for a moment, the only sound between them was the soft rustle of leaves and the distant thunder of hammer from the village below.

Thomas stared into his palms, still focused on the strings wrapped around his pinky until Minho’s fingers came across his lap and pinched the frayed ends of Newt’s string. He glanced at Minho then, brows flying into his hairline.

“Minho?”

“It’s not your fault.” The former runner murmured. He released the broken string and threaded his fingers into Thomas’ own. “You did what you had to do.”

“You would have done something different.”

“Maybe,” Minho shrugged. “But maybe not. The point is, you helped Newt and wherever the hell he is, it’s better than here. That’s for sure.”

Thomas sighed and leaned his head against the sturdy tree. “Will it ever stop hurting?”

Minho didn’t reply but Thomas didn’t expect him to.

They both knew the answer to his question.


End file.
